Presents
by thatswhyyyoudont
Summary: Mello x Near slash, if you like. When Mello hears of L's death, he goes back to bed. Wammy's House, canon-divergent.
When they get the news, after Mello finally, finally, stops screaming, he goes back to bed. He stays there the next day, and the next, and the next. Every day, he makes the same bargains with himself. _I'll just shower,_ he thinks. _I'll just shower, and if I still feel this terrible, I'll go back to bed._

So he puts on a dressing gown over his boxers and goes to the bathroom and showers. Then he thinks, _I'll just brush my teeth. I'll just brush my teeth, and then if I still feel this terrible, I'll go back to bed._ So he brushes his teeth. Then, in a similar fashion, he goes back to his room and brushes his hair. Clips his nails if they need it. He goes to the window and opens it as wide as it will g, without disturbing the curtains. Then he hesitates. He likes to think he hesitates a little longer as each day passes, but he has no way of telling.

And then he goes back to bed.

Roger is sympathetic at first. He brings Mello his meals and tries to talk to him. But then he tires of this after a few days, lecturing Mello that he is not his butler, that he understands he is upset, but he will not tolerate his lying in bed eating chocolate day after day, neglecting his studies and his health. Everyone was understandably upset, but trying to get on with things, as he needed to. Mello says nothing. He has plenty of chocolate stashed to keep himself going.

Matt is also losing his patience. He would usually bring him fresh bottles of water, at least, but now he just looks at him and sighs. "Come on, Mello," he says, lightly duffing him with his pillow. Mello doesn't move. Matt sighs again and goes out of their shared room, to get on with his day. Now, when Mello gets thirsty, he holds out for as long as he can, then sucks it straight from the bathroom tap.

Sometimes, when the wind is howling, it is rather soothing to be in bed. Everyone else is trapped and sullen in the house, and the beating of the weather against the window rocks him to sleep.

But when the sun is high and warms his room through his curtains, when he hears everyone play outside through his open window, he knows he is being selfish and feels faintly ridiculous.

Truthfully, it is getting harder, this staying in bed. He gets guilty. He gets hot, restless, itchy and bored. His mouth turns sour and his head aches. His joints feel stiff and mis-shapen. But when he thinks of getting out of bed, he thinks of L being dead, of having to work with Near ( _You're just another loser)_ , who doesn't even care L's dead, and he can't do it. Just another few more days, he tells himself. Then you'll wake up. Just a little longer.

It is around 12'oclock when someone opens Mello's door. This is the longest part of the day, when there is no freshness of the morning or relief of the evening. As no-one has knocked, Mello assumes it is Matt and doesn't bother opening his eyes. He senses someone near the bed and hears a familiar rustle of paper, and opens one eye instinctively. He gets a horizontal view of a huge variety pack of chocolate. However, it is being held not by Matt's grubby, repenting fingers, but by a tiny porcelain hand. Mello opens his other eye, and sure enough, Near is standing over him. In his other hand, he has a huge bottle of water almost half the size of him, the kind people carry for camping or Earthquakes. His fingers leave smears on the plastic, it is so cold and fresh, and Mello's mouth waters, his throat is so painfully dry. A robot is tucked rather awkwardly under Near's elbow. His huge eyes are insect-like, dark and unmoving.

"What," says Mello, and coughs. "Is this?"

"Chocolate," Near says, unnecessarily.

Mello eyes it warily from his pillow. It is an expensive, German brand that Mello can't afford to buy himself, and that Roger certainly doesn't get with the groceries.

"Where did you get this?" He tries to remember the last time he saw Near leave the house.

"Roger took me to the dentist."

He snorts. "They used to just give me a lollipop."

"We went to the supermarket afterwards."

Mello wonders if he's one of those kids that don't get sarcasm. How wonderful it would be if Near didn't get something, even something as inconsequential as sarcasm.

Near holds the chocolate out to him until it is practically under his nose. Mello takes the water instead, and sits up to lean on one elbow and twist the lid off. He tips his head back and glugs as much as he can take. It feels so good, it is as if his brain has dived into the sea. He wipes his mouth off and replaces the lid, his cells sighing with relief. "Thanks," he tells Near, putting the rest on the floor by his feet.

Near now has his robot in his free hand. He holds out the chocolate expectantly.

Mello moves back, for personal space more than anything. Near is hanging right over him. Then he fingers the chocolate hesitantly, like he might have poisoned it. "What is this?" he says. "Peace offering?"

Near just shrugs. He is watching Mello with the chocolate very intensely. If he were a normal child, Mello would suspect he was after a bite.

He turns over the pack to read the flavours. He has only ever had plain before.

"They're different flavours," Near tells him then, unnecessarily, and Mello is somehow mocking him or not.

Mello tears open the pack and a bite out of the first bar. Orange and Almond. It is divine. He finishes about half the bar and then opens another at random, Caramel, and takes a bite.

"Want some?" he asks Near, who is still staring at him disconcertingly.

Instead of selecting a fresh bar, Near unwraps the orange and almond bar Mello has just abandoned and takes a bite. His expression doesn't change as he chews. He could be eating plain bread.

"It's not my birthday," Mello tells him. He could point out stupid things too.

Near swallows and says, "I know."

He wraps the bar back up, placing it carefully back in line with the others. Then he hoists himself up on the bed in the space Mello has just vacated, and lies down. The lack of personal space doesn't seem to bother him. He walks his robot up Mello's side with the concentration of a child.

"Near," Mello growls, but he hasn't got the energy to even kick him.

"Would Mello like to play with me?"

"Play with you," he repeats. Either the sheep has lost his mind, or he is losing his own.

Near is nodding. "Mello has not been listening to his radio," he says. The robot pads along his hipbone. "Or reading his magazines or talking on the phone."

Mello doesn't even ask how he knows. He doesn't want to think about it.

"I thought Mello might be bored," he continues.

Mello finds he is clenching his teeth. "I've been _upset_ , Near."

The robot pauses over his hip. His little hand clenches almost imperceptibly around the robot, knuckles white. Then continues on it's journey towards Mello's ribs. "I have jigsaw puzzles," he says, like he hasn't heard him. "And Chess. And Checkers. And Marbles."

Mello groans.

"There are games downstairs, too," Near continues, oblivious. "Guess Who and Monopoly and Snakes and Ladders and Ludo and Mouse Trap. But if you don't want to sit up too much, there are paper games."

"Paper games."

He feels Near's jaw move on the bed as he nods. "Like Hangman. Or Noughts and Crosses. Or a Wordsearch. Or a Crossword."

The robot bumps over his shoulder and up his neck, and Mello closes his eyes.

"I have cards, too," Near tells him. "I usually just make towers, but I know all the games. Or there's Cat's Cradles. That's when you take a piece of string or shoelace and you- "

"I know what it is." Mello still hasn't opened his eyes. He feels the robot pause, and then it is walked across his eyelids.

"We can also play games like I Spy or 20 questions. Then you don't have to move at all."

Mello says nothing.

"Or finger puppets."

To his relief, the robot is removed from his face, and he feels Near fishing about in his pockets. He opens his eyes, curious in spite of himself, and comes into eye contact with what is clearly a handmade, miniature version of himself.

"Is that me?"

"Yes," Near says, placidly. "You can be you, and I can be me, and you can be L, if you want. I don't know what Kira looks like, but I…"

Mello has turned his face away, no longer listening. Near has drawn two large crosses where L's eyes should be. He feels Near put the finger puppets away.

He goes quiet for a while, perhaps out of toys. After a while, when Mello thinks he must be asleep, or that he must be about to leave soon, he feels the cold tread of the robot on his cheek again.

He must have grabbed Near's hand harder than he realised, for Near actually cried out. "Do you even care?" he hisses, gripping the little hand under his own. He hopes the robot will break in Near's hand.

Near is squirming. He says something Mello doesn't quite catch.

"Do you?"

"L made me this," he repeats, louder. He is still trying to free the robot.

Mello lets go, and he snatches it back. He strokes it reverently, showing no regard for his red hand.

"L made me this," he says again, like nothing has happened. He continues to stroke the robot as if it were a pet. "And he made me that white puzzle for my birthday."

Mello is staring at the robot. "He made me stuff too," he says, without venom. "He never forgot birthdays or Christmases, for any of us, no matter how busy he was."

Near nods. "I would like to work with Mello for L," Near says to the robot. "Because I don't think I can be L on my own."

For the first time since the news, Mello is dangerously close to tears.

"I can't do things by myself," he goes on, when Mello doesn't say anything. "I can't do new things or do much outside or read people."

"I'm not being your Watari," he mutters.

"Mello would not be like Watari," Near agrees. They both stare at the robot like it has an answer for them. Then he says, carefully, like he has rehearsed it. "If Mello tells me what it is I do that annoys him, I can try and stop, if it is not unreasonable."

He sighs. "This annoys me." He gives the robot a gentle tap. "This walking all over me."

"I know," Near says, to his surprise. "I thought that was funny. And I hoped it might make Mello angry enough to get out of bed." He shrugs. "But I won't do it again."

They go quiet for a bit.

"Does Mello have toys?" he asks suddenly.

"Some. I don't play with them any more."

He has a green bucket under his bed filled with miniature animals and cars, and the occasional soft toy. They are mostly chipped and missing bits. He hasn't opened that bucket in years, since coming to Wammy's, but he can still recall every beast's name and its role, every car and race, every fight and quest and feeling.

"Can I see them one day?" Near asks him now. "Not to keep. Not even to play with, if you don't want me to. I'd just like to look."

Yes, Mello thinks. One day. But he is not thinking about toys just now. He is thinking about getting up.


End file.
